


the bullshit whisperer

by coldmackerel



Category: Until Dawn (Video Game)
Genre: humor and suffering, so much friendship its gonna hurt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-19
Updated: 2016-01-24
Packaged: 2018-05-06 10:44:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 14,733
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5413859
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coldmackerel/pseuds/coldmackerel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>josh had never strictly believed in ghosts, but he does consider himself something of a legendary bullshit whisperer so…well, who knows. it's never too late for more bullshit in your life.</p><p>set after the events of the game with some creative liberties because fuck you.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. the bullshit begins

**Author's Note:**

> life is:
> 
> 1\. hilarious  
> 2\. tragic
> 
>  
> 
> (idk whats going on anymore my life is falling apart)

The first thing you learn about being dead is that you’re never too far gone to find it in yourself to bitch about something. But really, Josh had never had that particular problem. A deep, deep well of complaint filled the dark corners of his soul, plentiful and abundant enough to ruin nearly every other not-awful part of his personality. Not even death could run _that_ well dry. Josh’s bitching was etched into his DNA, prophetic and passed down through centuries, molded carefully by legendary bullshit craftsmen for this very moment, for the sole purpose of sustaining his lifeless corpse ghost while he grumbled about nothing of any importance. Everything had led up to this moment.

This dumb, anticlimactic moment.

The prophets probably hadn’t imagined the culmination of their efforts to be some dirty, malnourished whacko, sniffling against the bitter cold and staring miserably into the dense, gloomy remnants of daylight while rocks dug into his aching butt and his legendary DNA urged him to bitch about it. If his teeth hadn’t been chattering too badly, he probably would have listened.

But we all know that life’s a bit of a disappointment sometimes. Death too. At least we’re blessed with the holy gift of consistency – even if that consistency leans toward the truly terrible and solidly disappointing.

To make things worse, Josh’s eyes started to water in protest of the howling wind. Whoever had designed humans really needed to update the model, because if your eyes are expected to water in the cold, but water freezes in the cold - well where does that leave us? Frozen eye jelly. Eyeball popsicles.

Josh blinked rapidly against the cold and clamped his jaw shut to stop his teeth from chattering together. With shaking hands, he reached for the discarded wool blanket beside him and arranged it across his shoulders and over his head like a cape, as he had done before discarding it. It was worn and dirty and full of holes – kind of like Josh himself – but warm enough. When he finished arranging it, his whole face was blessedly guarded against the wind _except for his damn eyes_. But he kind of needed those to see or whatever. Not that there was much to see.

He coughed and snorted back the snot threatening to spill out over his face and makeshift cloak. As he reached up to wipe his nose on the back of his hand, he paused and stared down at his exposed palms. Briefly his brain shorted out at the sight and he frowned down at the congealed blood, thick and dark where it stained his already dirty sleeves. Turning his hands over, Josh studied the gore stuck under his long fingernails. It was all a little too dry to be of any pressing concern to him, but it was also a little too fresh to be of _no_ concern. Eventually he worked up the nerve to shift his cloak and pull aside the lapels of the old jacket he had borrowed from the dearly departed to study the array of grime and blood adorning the various layers of his clothing. The stains themselves all seemed to reflect separate events in the grand chronology of whatever the hell he was doing. Some were old and brown, dotted and flecked across his overalls, while others were morbidly fresh, still seeping and slipping into the worn stitches of his overalls and jackets. Something had really done a number on him.

His brain was still lagging a bit behind, as it was wont to do. Josh coughed politely and his brain scrambled to put itself back together, apologetic as always. Apologies can only get you so far, though. Josh needed _results_. Hop to it, asshole.

He was…dead.

The blood was a good indication. He was covered in the damn stuff.

And…?

No, that was about all he had.

The sun wasn’t even remotely visible through the haze of snow and thick, winter clouds, but it at least _seemed_ to be reappearing behind the thick pine trees on the horizon of Blackwood Mountain. Either that or the clouds were just getting thinner, no longer choking out what little light was left for him. But his brain tended to get less fuzzy and his eyes hurt less during the hours between day and night, so he went with the former. It was probably somewhere close to dawn.

So, purely for lack of anything better to do, Josh sat in the gaping mine shaft entrance watching a sunrise he couldn’t see and trying to remember how to feel things. You can wish a long time not to feel things, but when you find yourself with that coveted ability, you no longer even have the capacity to appreciate it. It’s a real ironic son of a bitch.

He didn’t feel anything at all.

Unless you count cold as an emotion, because so far being dead or a ghost or whatever was a real frigid downer. He could hardly see a thing and had great difficulty trying to remember how he had ever thought Blackwood was beautiful. Honestly, what’s the hype? Trees, rocks, snow, more trees, and more rocks. And some extra rocks too. And miles of tunnels with, you guessed it: more rocks.

Rocks to the left, rocks to the right, rocks _jabbing him in the ass_.

“M-motherf-fucker,” Josh managed through his chattering teeth. Frustrated, he hauled himself off the floor of Rock Hell and readjusted the mountain of pilfered layers heavy on his shoulders. The patchy jackets smelled like death. Or maybe kind of like industrial-sized thrift shops. Maybe those smells were the same thing.

He had no idea where he was going, but he wasn’t sitting on those goddamn rocks any longer. Briefly, he wondered where everyone else was. He hadn’t come up to this dumb mountain by himself.

Oh.

Oh right, yeah, those fucks he called friends had to be around there somewhere. But he was dead, so would it even matter if he found them? Actually, how had he even gotten out of the mines? What the hell was going on?

To be clear, Josh wasn’t particularly alarmed by these thoughts and questions. One can become accustomed to a certain level of dissociation and confusion – not that he even remembered becoming accustomed to it. Was there anything he _did_ remember? Fucking typical.

Wait. Wait a minute.

Josh was supposed to be doing something.

It was that same feeling one gets upon waking from an unsanctioned nap, unknowingly having taken the place of some pressing responsibility. Oh yeah, Josh had neglected something for sure.

Or shit, maybe Josh was quite literally in hell. That would…make sense. He had, objectively, done some things that may be considered damnable. Perhaps.

Yeah, this was probably hell.

It certainly reflected eternal punishment. But where was that asshole with the horns and the pitchfork? Where was his cozy hellfire? Where were Hitler, Woody Allen, and Josh’s first therapist? If this was hell, those people were surely close by.

They’d gotten one thing right, though: he was alone. So yeah, this was probably hell.

Fuck.

Something started to thaw in his chest cavity and Josh glanced around him, unconsciously seeking validation that he wasn’t truly, inescapably alone. His nails dug into his palms where they rested in the folds of his cloak. He wasn’t… _really_ alone. Like, not permanently. That’s not – well it’s just not supposed to…who would really-?

Josh’s ribcage seemed to cave in on itself, squeezing painfully around his still heart like it could actually choke the life out of him. Too little too late.

Alone.

“Oh, fuck me,” he murmured. The whispers of falling snow were so loud he almost couldn’t even hear the curse leave his own mouth.

No, no, Josh with _feeling_.

“ _Fuck_ me,” he amended, with feeling. “Fuck. Fucking fuck.”

“Alright, alright, give the poor word a break already. You’re gonna wear it out.”

Absurd. Fuck is a utility word. It’s durable, time-tested, and limitlessly satisfying. Nice try, though, asshole.

Josh opened his mouth to say as much, but faltered before he could follow through. Hold the damn phone.

Spinning around on his heel, Josh stared wildly back into the depths of the mine’s entrance. His eyes poked around the darkness for a few moments, wide and unsuccessful. “Wh-who’s there?” He called into the black veil. “I’m armed.” The lie was a gut instinct. “Okay, I’m not armed. But I’m a crazy motherfucker, so don’t mess with me.” His voice sounded less ‘crazy motherfucker’ and more ‘twelve-year-old left home alone for the first time’. But if Kevin McCallister was any indication of what a scared child can manage when home alone, then that disembodied voice was in for a world of hilariously lethal slapstick hurt.

“Dude, chill.”

Josh performed a series of motions that were the complete opposite of chill. When he was done whipping around and panicking, his eyes finally caught on two crouched forms at the opposite end of the mine entrance, huddled together against the rocky wall to guard themselves from the wind. One was poking absently at the ground with a small stick and the other was giving him a concerned grimace.

“ _Shit_ dude, you’re not lookin’ too good.” The one who had spoken nudged the other figure and gestured in Josh’s direction. “I told you we shouldn’t have left him alone last night.”

False. Josh always looked good. Except when he didn’t.

Josh frowned at him and took a step away, unsure about how to proceed. How the hell could they see him? Was he _not_ dead? He felt pretty fucking dead. Why had he been so convinced he was a ghost or some shit? Oh, right: the massive amount of blood, the general lethargy and dissociation, not to mention the haziness of his surroundings.

Josh could feel his nose running – _you’d better go catch it_ , his brain supplied unhelpfully – and reached up to wipe it against the back of his hand. The damage was already done by the time he remembered his hands were covered in congealed blood and guts. Shit.

“Shit, we don’t have time for this. The sun’s coming up already. Are you ready to head out? You’re not freaking out again are you?”

Josh took another step back and clung nervously to the fabric of his shabby blanket cloak. Yes. Yes he was freaking out. “W-what’s going on?” He stuttered, unable to control his shivering. “How can you see me? What’s happening?”

Chris nudged Sam again and she looked up from whatever she had been doodling in the snow.

Chris.

And Sam.

Right, right. Chris and Sam. Sam and Chris.

They exchanged worried looks. Josh felt a little left out, so he directed his own worried look between the two of them. Together, they formed a cozy little triangle of worry. It was irrelevant that Josh didn’t know what the other two were worrying about. He had enough free-floating anxiety for the three of them to share. But if he were to take a wild fucking guess it was probably the blood, guts, and untimely demise of their mutual ex-buddy.

“It’s happening again,” Sam muttered, not quite quietly enough to stay between her and Chris.

Chris shrugged helplessly. “Yeah, thanks hadn’t noticed.”

“Why, though?” Sam continued, ignoring Chris’s mocking tone. “He was doing fine just a little while ago. Er, well, as fine as can be expected I guess.”

Josh couldn’t actually remember “a little while ago”, but he kind of doubted he had been “doing fine”. That didn’t sound like him at all.

“Gee, I don’t know, Sam,” Chris returned wryly. “Look at his face, he looks just fine! Dandy, even! Like a gentle summer breeze. If the summer breeze was covered in the murdered souls of the innocent.”

Sam glanced back at Josh’s face and cringed a bit. Josh had always been real popular with the ladies and gents. The cringing was a good sign he was sure. “Well,” Sam said slowly, “we always knew this was time sensitive. I wanted to leave this damn mountain weeks ago.”

Weeks?

Oh boy.

Chris shook his head critically, eyeing Sam over the top of his glasses. Josh had always hated when he did that. It meant that Chris was about to prove he was smarter than you. “We can’t leave. We haven’t found everything we need to find yet.”

“Yeah, but every time we come close, we lose Josh again.” Sam chucked the twig she had been doodling with out into the thickening snow in frustration. “He can’t keep going like this. I wish there was a way we could finish this by ourselves.”

“What would you have me do, Sam?” Chris crossed his arms, daring her to provide some mysterious alternative. “I would _love_ a viable alternative.”

Josh cleared his throat awkwardly and the two of them startled slightly as if they had truly forgotten he was there. After gaining their attention, though, Josh realized he didn’t have anything intelligent to add to whatever they were talking about. He really had gone off the reservation on this one. And dear god, those lunatics were under-dressed. Josh pulled his cloak a little tighter around his shoulders, but shook the hood back from his head to see them better.

As soon as his hood was thrown back, Chris and Sam recoiled slightly, shaking their heads at him in poorly concealed horror. Real nice. Thanks guys. He didn’t care to see himself in a mirror.

“Can you see me?” Josh settled on this question for reasons quite beyond him. No context, no leading questions, no introduction – just how he preferred to operate. He wasn’t even sure what he was trying to ask here.

Sam raised an eyebrow at him while Chris threw his hands up in quiet frustration almost as though Josh couldn’t see him fuming. For his subtlety, Chris may as well have screamed, “what fresh hell is this” directly in Josh’s eardrum. It wasn’t his fault. He didn’t mean to be this stupid. It just kind of happens sometimes.

Luckily, Sam took pity on him and stood from her crouched position to approach him slowly. “What do you mean?”

Hell if he knew. “Um,” Josh supplied helpfully. Once again, he forgot about the blood on his hands and ran them through his hair nervously. The pleasant numbness from before was slowly being replaced by a nice, roiling concoction of confusion, fear, and agitation. “I-I don’t know. I’m not sure what’s going on. I’m dead, right? It’s just – this is a lot of blood, Christ. I thought I was dead. And I’m not sure how I got here.” His head hurt.

Sam pursed her lips and continued her gentle approach. Chris stood as well and joined the two of them, placing a protective hand on Sam’s shoulder, holding her back just slightly from getting _too_ close.

Protective?

Josh looked down at his bloody hands again. Oh, right.

“Josh,” Chris said sternly, pulling Sam back partially behind him. “Stay calm.”

The last thing someone wants to hear when they’re panicking is “stay calm”. No, fuck you, time to freak out.

“Why are we out here?” Josh tried, voice a little higher than he would have liked. The panic seeped into his tone despite his best efforts. “What’s going on?” He demanded again. He stumbled back a step, off-balance and uncomfortable. His head felt far heavier than he remembered, like it might tip over if he shook it or leaned too far to one side.

Chris looked behind him, exchanging another silent conversation with Sam. This one seemed to consist mostly of worry and slight disagreement about how best to proceed with their loony friend. Josh wasn’t sure who won the argument, but Chris finally looked back at him and offered up a sympathetic smile. “If you’re dead, then how can Sam and I see you? Or talk to you for that matter?”

Fuck if he knew. The whole ghost metaphysics shtick wasn’t really his bag of tricks. Leave that to the professionals. “I don’t know,” Josh admitted. “I don’t – well, I mean…I can’t explain it. I was just so sure, ya know?” He sniffled again and wiped his dripping nose on the back of his grimy sleeve. He wanted to go home. “I’m dead,” he insisted, almost childishly. The alternative was somehow less attractive.

“Fine,” Chris sighed. “You win. You’re dead and we’re the unfortunate souls stuck with your disembodied ghost.”

Josh was never too far-gone to be petty. Yeah, get fucked, nerd.

“Chris,” Sam warned, tugging on his sleeve. She shook her head slightly at him, but the gesture didn’t deter him.

“What _do_ you remember?” Chris tried.

Josh cocked his head to the side and hummed in thought, sifting through the swirling pile of shit that had taken up permanent residence in his brain. The sorting went pretty quickly because it was all garbage, so he put it all into the same garbage pile. Spring cleaning was easy if you didn’t have two fucks to rub together.

“Not much,” he laughed. “I guess I remember fucking everything up.”

Sam frowned. “To which instance of that are you referring?”

Chris elbowed her in the side, but Sam made no effort to amend her previous question.

Josh nodded. It was a fair question. “Um, the prank I guess,” he mumbled. “My brilliantly concocted, albeit twisted and retrospectively uncalled for prank.” He paused and allowed the rusty gears of his mind to turn a few more times. Vaguely he wondered if smoke was coming out of his ears with the effort it took to remember even such significant events for what they had been: pretty fucked. “And I remember my sisters. They’re…dead,” he finished softly. “And it was,” he swallowed, “my fault?”

It was a familiar grief. He had grieved before – not just for their passing, but also for the manner of their passing. If it hadn’t felt so familiar, though, he might not have known he had already been through those motions. Certainly he didn’t have any vivid recollections of the process through which Hannah and Beth’s demise had come to light. He just kind of _knew._

“Hannah killed me,” he said suddenly. “She became one of those – those _things_. She tore me to pieces because, because-” His filthy hands found his hair again and he scrubbed anxiously at his scalp, nails digging painfully into his scalp. “My fault,” he repeated. “My fault. All my fault. My-”

“Hey,” Chris interjected. Josh couldn’t remember the two of them getting so close to him. It frightened him. He was frightened _for_ them. “Don’t be a selfish prick. Blame was meant to be shared, asshole. Then again, you never really did learn how to share. Fuckin’ rich people.”

Josh pulled a face and retreated a few steps. “This is my fault.” This time, he had the necessary conviction. It’s all about delivery. “I’m responsible for this.”

“For bein’ an asshole?” Chris gave him a condescending look. “Yeah, guilty.”

This time, Sam elbowed Chris. They couldn’t seem to agree on the appropriate level of aggressiveness for this conversation. So unprofessional.

Josh was getting frustrated. “No – I mean, yes? I mean, usually yes, but not in this particular – ugh. You’re confusing me.” He whined in the back of his throat and cast about for assistance, but was met only with whispering snow and a bleak wall of clouds. “Where’s everyone else?” He needed more allies here. No, that wasn’t right. They weren’t allies anymore. They were his judges, his jury, and his executioners. If Josh was on fire they wouldn’t piss on him to put it out. And they were justified.

Finally, Josh seemed to have appropriately shaken them. Chris still looked frustrated, but Sam’s eyes went wide and she tugged insistently on Chris’s sleeve. Frowning, Chris shot Sam a look and shook his head imperceptibly. Josh couldn’t help but feel left out. He had never seen two people have an entire conversation – an entire argument – with just looks. It got pretty heated too. The two of them were about as subtle as teenagers in a liquor shop. Without any context, though, Josh was hopelessly lost between their flickering glares and twitches.

“You done?” Josh snapped. “I don’t speak asshole. Where the hell is everyone else? In English this time, please.” He crossed his arms across his chest in an undeniable pout. Josh hated being left out.

They both seemed to, yet again, remember he was still there and ceased their silent argument. “Actually, I’m pretty sure you’re like the heir to the asshole throne and the sole survivor to the historical asshole tradition,” Chris scoffed.

True.

“His ancestors carved the first asshole hieroglyphics on the towering asshole pyramids in the ancient chambers of the asshole gods,” Sam agreed.

Also true.

Chris grinned at her. “The first asshole settlers brought the asshole religion to the new world and kept the asshole gods alive in their churches and homes. They erected statues foretelling the second coming of the asshole prophet.”

“That’s you,” Sam clarified. “You’re the asshole prophet.”

Okay, no. Fuck them.

“Hilarious. Can’t wait for your segment on Letterman,” he muttered, narrowing his eyes and crossing his arms tighter across his chest.

Chris and Sam shared a single look. Really, Josh should have known better than to assume they were done. He was pretty sure Chris was about to explode from the effort of stopping himself.

“Also Stone Henge was built by aliens in honor of your universal asshole truths,” he said quickly. “Okay now I’m done.”

“And you created the Bermuda Triangle by the disruption in energy from the three points at which Earth’s nuclear asshole energy is strongest,” Sam added under her breath. “But yeah, we’re good now.”

Josh hummed angrily in the back of his throat, but allowed the two of them to get it all out of their systems. “You done?”

They both nodded and murmured various affirmative responses, though Josh was positive they had a million more lined up. It was about as much kindness as he could expect from them that they didn’t continue. Small blessings.

Josh was a master at deflection, though. Sam and Chris were but humble apprentices to the art. Their deception was obvious. “ _Please_ tell me where everyone else is,” Josh tried.

“You want the short version? You forget every time we tell you anyways,” Sam sighed. “It’s been like 50 First Dates these last few weeks…I mean, assuming Adam Sandler would ever put up with you. Shit, I just made myself Adam Sandler in that reference. Let me back up for a second.”

Josh raised his eyebrows and considered letting Sam talk herself out of being Adam Sandler but he really didn’t have time for that. “Just give me the short version, Sam.”

“Fine.” Sam glanced at Chris once, but Chris offered her no suggestions about how to proceed. He just shrugged slightly, handing over the reigns. “We’re…” Sam trailed off and furrowed her brows, concocting the best possible explanation. Josh hoped it was going to be the truth. “Um, well I guess we’ve been looking for them. Everyone’s, um, kind of – well, in a sense they’re missing. We know how to get them back, but we need your help. But ever since we found you in the mines, you’re a little –“

“Dead?” Josh finished.

“Unstable,” Sam corrected, almost like it was a question instead of a statement. “There’s a lot of moving parts here, Josh. I would explain it to you for the millionth time, but we’re working on a pretty limited timeframe.”

“Speaking of which,” Chris said, tapping obnoxiously on his dumb watch, “we’re burning dawn here. You always refuse to go outside when it gets too light out, but we can’t go out when it gets too dark either. That’s when the creepy crawlies do their creepy crawling.”

Sam nodded. “Yeah, despite our best pyrotechnic efforts that night, we’re not alone down here.”

“Wendigos,” Josh brain supplied. About fucking time. Useless motherfucker.

“And you blew up so much shit,” Chris said sadly. “For naught it would seem.”

Sam nodded mournfully. “I did blow up a lot of shit, didn’t I?”

Josh barely resisted the urge to join the mourning committee and assure Sam that she had done her worst and that was what really mattered. She had wrecked as much shit as could have been reasonably expected of her under the circumstances. Josh hadn’t exactly been there, but knowing Sam was enough to support Chris on his assurances. If Sam wanted something dead, he had no doubt that their survival was a cosmic fluke in the fabric of the universe’s will.

No, instead of joining the mourning committee, Josh said, “So let me get this straight. My sister turned into a monster, murdered my debatably deserving ass, you two dug my ghost out of miner’s hell, and now we’re camping out on Mount Regret because our friends are missing. And somehow we don’t think they’re dead?”

Chris’s face pulled into an unimpressed grimace and he waved his head noncommittally. “Eh.”

“Eh?” Josh glared at him.

“I mean, we can work with that I guess.”

Crossing his arms, Josh increased the intensity of his glare. “What am I missing here? If my summary sucks it’s only because you guys aren’t explaining this well.”

“Nothing. He means _nothing_ by that,” Sam insisted, aiming her own glare at Chris. “We’re going to run out of time if we stand here all night with our dicks in our hands comparing sizes.”

Josh shrugged and relented. “It shouldn’t take that long. We all know yours is the biggest Sammy.”

“You’re fucking right it is.”

Chris nodded his agreement.

Sam clapped her hands together and motioned for them to leave the shelter of the mine entrance. “Great. We’re all in agreement. You both have small dicks and it’s time to go to the lodge. Those pale fucks are gonna crawl out of the mines before we find what we’re looking for if we don’t get a move on.”

“That’s not a very nice thing to call Josh.”

“ _Chris.”_

“Fine. Lead the way, Dick Master.”

Josh resisted the urge to whine about the thick snow and bone-penetrating cold. Instead he settled on sighing and pulling his blanket tighter around his face. Sam and Chris were significantly more agile than he was as they trudged through the accumulated snow, uphill with wind whipping snowflakes up their noses. He didn’t even bother asking why they were going to the lodge. Or why their friends were missing. Or why they needed his corpse ghost’s help. Or anything that would have been completely reasonable to ask of the situation. Josh liked Drew Barrymore, but this didn’t need to be any more 50 First Dates than it already was (apparently).

 

As they hiked through the inclement weather, Chris and Sam fell into deep conversation. This conversation was verbal, unlike the previous ones, but Josh couldn’t hear it above the thick atmosphere and acoustically deadening snow. Whatever. Let them have their fun. They were dumb anyways. Josh wasn’t missing out on anything important or interesting and he certainly wasn’t feeling left out.

But just to be on the safe side he picked his feet up and quickened the pace in an attempt to catch up.

It was no good.

They were too graceful and Josh was too…Josh.

Sullenly, Josh shoved his grimy hands into the pockets of his equally grimy coat and stomped along in their wake. His fingers jammed against something small and wiry in his pocket and Josh poked them curiously. Maybe it was a hearing aid. Then he could be privy to Chris and Sam’s super secret, confidential bullshitting.

When he withdrew his hand, though, it was just a pair of glasses. They were a little bent and one of the lenses was cracked.

No, no. Josh wasn’t having a _seeing_ problem he was having a _hearing_ problem. Goddamnit.

Turning them over in his hand, though, revealed a certain familiarity. Josh would recognize those pretentious frames anywhere.

“Chris!” Josh called up to him. His voice sounded flat in the wintery air, but Chris turned around anyways. Josh held up the frames. “Aren’t these your glasses, dude? Why are they in my pocket?”

Chris rubbed a hand across his chin in thought. “Um. Well. I don’t know. Just hold on to them for me, alright? You’re my pockets now, big guy. I warn you, though, it’s not a cheap trip being my sugar daddy.” Sam punched him in the kidney, so Chris’s resulting laugh was a little more sobbing than laughing.

Josh recoiled. “Bro, _seriously_. You’re already wearing glasses. Why the hell do I have these?”

“Spares?”

Sometimes you just have to accept that you’re never going to get a valid answer and you just have to move on from it. Unless you’re Josh Washington.

“ _Dude._ ”

Sam sighed dramatically. “We don’t have time for this. I’ll answer any and all of your questions, Josh. Just not right now. Right now we need to get to the lodge, grab some shovels, and find what we’ve been sticking around on this godforsaken mountain for.”

Josh frowned and stared down at the broken frames in his hand, long nails wrapped around the thin metal.

“Deal?” Sam prompted.

Stuffing the frames back in his pocket, Josh nodded. “Fine. Cryptic as fuck – but deal.”

This time they waited for Josh to catch up and slowed their pace enough for him to stay between them. Much to his chagrin, neither of them resumed their secret conversation. The only conversation they really shared between that point and the lodge was Chris’s requirements for any prospective sugar daddies. Chris was going to die alone.

Sam joined in and somewhere between the two of them Josh was losing a lot of theoretical money. Sam was also going to die alone.

When the lodge came into view it was a little…crispier than Josh remembered.

“Aw, what? Who burned my house down.”

Josh stared mournfully at the charred beams and collapsed walls, black and grey and covered in snow. The basic infrastructure was still in tact, but the house was a skeleton at best. How long had it been like this?

“Sam did it,” Chris said quickly, pointing an accusatory finger.

Sam narrowed her eyes. “Thanks.”

“My house,” Josh repeated sadly. “My poor vacation home. So young. So full of life. So full of my parents money.”

“Sorry,” Sam said unapologetically.

Josh sniffed. “This house was just like a house to me.”

He turned to look at Sam mournfully, but she had already left him and started toward the ruin of his family’s home. Chris offered him a sympathetic look and a shrug before trailing after her.

Nobody appreciated fine architecture anymore.

Though, to be fair, he had kind of terrorized the both of them in that house. It stood to reason that they wouldn’t feel as attached to it as he did. But when all was said and done, they had shared many more good memories than bad memories there. It’s difficult to say how one should feel about a place that holds both our fondest memories and worst nightmares. At the very least, it may be most agreeable to regard that place simply as important.

Now that it was destroyed, Josh wondered if the memories had been released into the sky, cathartic and sad and entirely too empty now. Maybe they had all just floated away like helium balloons. Whatever happened to balloons when they escaped into the atmosphere? The aliens probably collected them.

Well the aliens had all of Josh’s most important memories now.

Take care of them, E.T.

Josh readjusted his cloak and headed for what was left of the lodge, joining Sam and Chris near the shed. She unearthed a few rusty shovels and tossed one to each of them. It would have looked kind of cool and baddass if Josh hadn’t fumbled and dropped his. Chris just completely failed to grab his and it hit him in the face. Sam needed some better action film co-stars than Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum.

Chris was totally Tweedle Dum for the record.

“C’mon.” Sam motioned for them to keep close, but Chris was too busy rubbing is forehead irritably. To keep Sam from leaving them behind, Josh reached out to grab Chris’s sleeve and pull him along, but his fingers slipped right through Chris’s arm.

“What the fuck?” Josh pulled his hand back quickly. “Dude, check this shit out.” Reaching out again, Josh gingerly swiped his hand right through Chris’s forearm. “I fucking told you I was a ghost.”

Chris didn’t seem all that impressed. “Oh yeah, Sherlock. Real good. I’ve never had my status as The Smart Friend so threatened.” He swung the shovel up and onto his shoulder. “Good detective work.”

“Okay, you’re definitely not the smart friend – the nerd friend, maybe.”

“Better than the dumb friend.”

Eventually the dumb friend and the nerd friend caught up with Sam who was probably best described as The Useful Friend – at least in comparison to the rest of them. She was already sifting through ash and charred wood with her shovel, tongue poking out in concentration.

“So what are we looking for?” Josh dug the tip of his shovel into the ashy ground and leaned into it. “Gold? We prospectin’ this ol’ mountain o’mine?” He asked in an obnoxious and probably inaccurate old western voice.

“No. Silver more like,” Sam returned, distracted by the contents of her shovel.

Josh snorted. “We’ll never get rich off of that, Sammy. It’s called The Gold Standard for a reason.”

Sam dumped the contents of her shovel in a pile and unearthed another scoop of snow and ash. “You’re already rich.”

“Yeah, so you’ve got a lot of catching up to do.” Josh grinned at her, but she ignored him and continued digging around in the rubble of his home. “Seriously, what am I digging for here?”

Sam paused and gave him a careful look. “I’m…uh, not actually sure.”

“What.”

“We don’t really know what we’re looking for.”

Josh gestured helplessly. “Oh. Oh, really good, Sammy. Let me give you a hand finding what we don’t even know we’re looking for. Lemme just give you a hand there.” Josh reached for Sam’s shovel and she twisted away from from him. They grappled a bit, Josh smothering her with offers of fake helpfulness in their pre-doomed mission. His arms kept fazing in and out of her physical form, though. For whatever reason, she could successfully shove him off but he couldn’t do the same.

Chris was laughing a few meters away, but he too was digging around for unknown treasures. Sam glared at Josh and prodded him with the handle of her shovel. “Alright, I realize that’s not much to go on-“

“It’s literally nothing to go on.”

“I _realize_ it’s not much to go on, but it has to be something that wasn’t destroyed in the fire. Something that’s probably small. We think Mike had it with him when the lodge blew up. My guess is that it’s his watch or something that wouldn’t have burned up.”

Whatever clever remark was on the tip of Josh’s tongue fled. “Woah there Sammy. It kind of sounds like you’re insinuating that Mike was _in_ the lodge when it blew up. Please tell me Mike didn’t get blown up.”

Chris scoffed and threw a shovel of ash at Josh’s jacket. “Please, dude. Mike’s _way_ too much of a tool to be flammable. It’s probably just something he dropped during the mayhem.”

It wasn’t the most reassuring explanation Josh had ever heard, but he shoved away his own unease and joined in the search. They fell into a comfortable silence – well, as comfortable as one can be doing manual labor in subzero temperatures. The ash mingled with the mostly-dry blood on Josh’s hands and he looked a little less like a serial killer. Just a little.

They all became increasingly aware that they were digging in a synchronized pattern: Sam and Josh on the offbeats, with Chris on the downbeat. Josh grinned between the two of them.

“It’s like we’re married,” he cooed.

Chris waggled his eyebrows. “Wait, check this: I remember a great police academy cadence from my dad. We used to shout these at each other all the time when I was little. Repeat after me ladies and gents – in time.”

Josh glanced over at Sam and she shrugged good-naturedly.

Chris cleared his throat. “When my granny was 91!”

“When my granny was 91,” Josh and Sam muttered in unison. It all felt a little foolish, but Josh was physically incapable of leaving someone hanging like this. Their digging fell in time to the cadence too, so it was kind of satisfying.

“She did PT just for fun!”

What the hell was PT?

“She did PT just for fun.”

“When my granny was 92!”

“When my granny was 92.”

“She ran five miles just like you!”

Josh had never run five miles in his entire life.

“She ran five miles just like you.”

“When my granny was 93!”

“When my granny was 93.”

“She did pushups just like me!”

Josh didn’t really do that either. Sam probably did.

“She did pushups just like me.”

This was all terribly distracting. Josh wasn’t sure they were even examining the contents of their shovels before chucking it gleefully over their shoulders in time with the cadence. Sam and Josh’s echoes weren’t nearly as enthusiastic as Chris’s, but he was having fun so the two of them humored him.

“When my granny was 95!”

“When my granny was 95.”

Chris let an entire beat pass. “Uh, I forgot the words to the next part.”

“I forgot the words to the next part,” they answered dutifully.

“When my granny was 96!”

Granny was getting pretty old.

“When my granny was 96.”

“She did situps just for kicks!”

Josh sneezed, but Sam supplied the return. “She did situps just for kicks.”

“When my granny turned 97!”

“When my granny turned 97.”

“Holy shit I found something!”

“Holy shit I found something,” Sam and Josh droned mindlessly back.

That one didn’t even rhyme.

Chris chucked his shovel to the ground. “No, shut up. Cadence over. You guys are terrible cadets anyways.” He knelt down and began sifting through the ash with his hands. When Sam and Josh joined him, Josh strained to see what he was pointing at. “Think this could be what we’re looking for?”

Sam seemed excited, but Josh didn’t see what the big deal was. It was just a dirty, slightly bent silver lighter. It could have belonged to Mike. He always carried one with him even though he didn’t smoke. It was like he was constantly prepared to have to light a damsel’s cigarette in some 1920s underground bar before he swept her off her feet. The dude was so over the top sometimes.

“God, finally!” Sam laughed happily and nudged Chris’s shoulder. “We’ve been looking for a week.”

That seemed like an awfully long time to be searching for Mike’s douchebag lighter. They must really have owed him.

Neither Chris nor Sam made a move to retrieve the lighter from where it sat in the snowy ash, so Josh reached out for it. Before he could grab it, Sam’s hand shot out and snatched his, stopping him. Her hand was ice cold and –

Now hang on.

How exactly was she touching him?

Josh opened his mouth to ask, but Sam spoke first. “Josh. Before you take that lighter, you need to know a few things. Chris and I have told you these things dozens of times over the last month, but they never seem to stick. You always freak out at some point and we’re left back at square one.”

Chris looked uncomfortable, but made no move to interrupt. Neither did Josh. But he had a distinctly bad feeling in the pit of his stomach. Deep down he probably already knew whatever she was about to tell him, but some part of his brain had looked out for him for once in his goddamn life and buried it deep in his mind – like, listen buddy I’m tellin’ you: you don’t want to know.

“Josh. Oh geez. This never gets any easier.”

I am _telling_ you, you do _not_ want to know.

Quiet, brain.

“You see, you’re not-“

Sam paused and shifted her focus somewhere to the left of Josh’s head. He thought maybe she was chickening out, but then he heard it too: the sound of crunching snow under foot and the slight murmur of distant conversation.

Oh no. Not this poorly timed bullshit again.

“Sam, what were you going to say?” He hissed.

Sam shushed him and stood from their crouched position to get a better look. Josh stood too and strained his weak eyes against the blizzard. Maybe a quarter of a mile away he could spot a group of four figures dressed in matching parkas with heavy backpacks and shotguns. They were talking amongst themselves, but their weapons were gripped tight against their chests as if they were prepared to be attacked at any moment.

Sam and Chris exchanged yet another mysterious look, full of worry and confusion. Josh was more or less helplessly frozen while the group approached the wreckage of the lodge. They all looked to be park rangers of sorts – or at least of some official status. Chris grabbed Josh’s shoulder, tight and frigid even through his many layers.

Finally, the group spotted them and froze, fingers caressing the trigger guards of their weapons. A man with a thick, grey beard stepped forward and squinted at the three of them, face hardened but unmistakably taken aback.

“Holy shit,” he said gruffly, drawing out his vowels in wonder.

Make that two votes for Josh apparently looking awful.

Josh thought the rangers would lower their guns when they spotted a bunch of kids snooping around, but they only gripped their weapons tighter. Josh must have looked truly abominable.

A few moments of tense silence passed and Josh realized he probably should have said something.

“Son,” the elder park ranger said carefully. “We’re not going to hurt you, son. Can you understand us?”

Josh shrugged nervously, but found himself unable to produce words. He wished fervently that Sam or Chris would come to his rescue and play the diplomats.

“Are you…?” The ranger squinted harder against the snow and furrowed his brows. “Shit. Josh Washington, is that you? I can’t hardly believe it. Can you understand me son?”

Yet again, Josh remained paralyzed. Why was _he_ the one of concern here? Why didn’t they address Chris or Sam? They were the capable ones.

“Look at him!” One of the younger rangers said urgently, tapping the elbow of the older ranger with the barrel of his shotgun. “He ain’t right anymore, Griffin. He’s one of _them_.”

The older man frowned and shook his head slowly, eyes sweeping up and down Josh’s body. This was all very confusing. “Well,” he growled, “I’ll be damned, but we’ve got one.”

“Barely,” the young ranger scoffed.

The bearded ranger ignored him. “I’ll be damned," he repeated, "but we’ve got a survivor. Months of this hell and we can finally bring one back with a pulse.”

Somehow Josh managed to find his voice right as the ground dropped out beneath his feet and his heart stuttered to a stop. “W-what?”

They all jumped a bit at the sound of his voice.

“What are you saying?” He demanded again. His voice was thick and garbled, like his brain had shut down on him and fled. “What are they saying?” This time, Josh turned back to Chris and Sam and directed the question at them - only to find that he was alone in the wreckage of the lodge.

Alone.

“Son, we can get you home. Just take it easy, we’re here to help.”

Oh no.

Oh no no no no no. Those lousy fucking traitors. Those _liars_.

Without so much as a backward glance, Josh dropped his shovel and tore off into the trees, hurtling over wreckage and pumping his arms, avoiding the larger snowdrifts. He could hear the rangers shouting at him and maybe they even followed him, but Josh had one thing that they didn’t: nothing left to lose.

He could have been running for ten minutes, ten hours, or ten days by the time he stopped in a murky thicket of pine trees and dropped to his knees, a feral roar threatening to spill out of his mouth. He tore at his hair with bloody, ashy hands and tried to keep his brain from pouring out his ears. Horrendously, tragically, _traitorously_ Josh’s heart pounded in his ears – very much alive and broken.

“Told you he’d take it well,” Chris said smugly.

Sam sighed. “God, shut up, Chris.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> pls join me in enjoying [this](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QjByx-eMVe8) song. its almost like we're bonding here.
> 
> anyways.
> 
> i've just been stringing this together when im bored, procrastinating, drunk, or any combination of the three. i feel like nobody even likes platonic fics on this site anymore, but i am old and do not care. seems like i have a decent idea of how i want this to go, but im notoriously lazy so i'll probably ditch it if nobody's feelin it. just let me know.
> 
> anyways, happy end of semester and holidays to those who celebrate. to those who don't, well, happy friday i suppose.


	2. the bullshit thickens

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> as bullshit is inclined to do

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> huh i forgot i wrote more of this while i was busy being bored and unemployed. there's literally just me and like two of you guys reading this. normally i barely break out the booze for a crowd like that, but what the hell. expect nothing and you'll never be disappointed.

 

“No, no, he’ll be fine.”

“Yeah, he looks great, Sam.”

“Seriously, just give him a second.”

“Remember that time we let him take ten shots of tequila and climb his neighbor’s giant hawthorn tree naked?”

“I doubt I’ll ever forget.”

“Yeah well he looks ten times worse right now than he did after that.”

If Josh hadn’t been hyperventilating he might’ve found the breath to agree. He may not have been able to see himself, but this _felt_ worse - although, he couldn’t actually remember the hawthorn tree incident very well. That was the kind of thing you just wake up from half a day later and count your remaining friends and new scars. Particularly the one shaped kind of like Somalia on his ass.

But anyways.

Josh felt worse than tequila or hawthorn trees or Somalia.

Chris cleared his throat pompously. “I _knew_ we should have told him right away.” Chris only had two settings: goofy and I told you so. “I told you so.”

Case in point.

“Okay, next time we die and Josh forgets and goes all Norman Bates, _you_ can decide the appropriate time to remind him,” Sam spat.

Josh tried to focus on their words, as unhelpful as they were, but his chest was caving in on itself, squeezing against his protesting lungs. Each breath he took felt like it was taken in through a microscopic straw twenty thousand leagues under the sea. Captain Nemo probably never hyperventilated, that roguish bastard. Josh wouldn’t know – he hadn’t read that book when it was assigned senior year. He hadn’t read any assigned books senior year. Or any other year for that matter.

Either way, Josh was pretty sure he was dying. Who had taken all the air out of this air? His heaving gasps only choked him further. What the hell was he supposed to do to stop this? Shove a wallet in his mouth? No, no that was seizures. Drink water upside down? Hiccups.

Fuck. His head was pounding and the ground tilted dangerously. Maybe he should just try the wallet thing anyways.

“He’s having a panic attack,” Chris said, gesturing nervously at Josh’s huddled form. “We gave him a panic attack and now he’s dying!”

Sam shot Chris an irritable look before crouching down next to Josh and placing a hand on his shoulder. “He’s not dying. He’s…suffering.” She grimaced and searched his face

Yeah, what the hell else was new.

“Well make him stop!” Chris’s voice squeaked at the end.

Yes, Sam. Make him stop.

Josh very much wanted to stop, but his brain felt like a shaken wasp nest and his lungs were choking themselves to death. And as much as this felt like the bitter, tragic end of his short, miserable life, Josh kind of wanted to refuse their help.

Those fucking assholes.

Josh was alive and they weren’t. If he had ever been more pious than just bitter agnosticism then he might’ve had the emotional capacity to denounce God entirely. What kind of sick fuck dreams that ending up? How or why or when those traitors had kicked the bucket was still locked frustratingly in his swimming brain. He knew he should be sad and wracked with grief, but all he could summon was anger. Who exactly was he angry at? Maybe he was angry with them for dying or maybe he was angry with himself for instigating it or maybe he was angry at the universe for letting this happen. It was hard to say. All he really knew was that he was angry and he was dying.

Still heaving, Josh brought his trembling head up to stare into Sam’s eyes. She looked scared and uncomfortable and unsure of herself. In a word: not Sam.

Sam had no idea how to help him.

“Wait!” Chris crouched down on Josh’s other side. “I think we’re supposed to make him hold his breath.” He looked briefly between Sam and Josh. “Josh, can you hold your breath?”

Were they crazy? He was suffocating. There was no way in hell he was going to hold his breath. All he could manage was a glare and a labored headshake.

“Dude, hold your breath. You’ve gotta.”

Josh shook his head again.

Sam gripped his shoulder tighter. “Do what he says, Josh.”

“We’re trying to help you. Dude, you’re gonna be okay just trust me.”

Yeah, right. Like he trusted him not to be dead.

Stubbornly, Josh shook his head again. His vision was getting worse and black prickled at the edges of his subconscious, threatening to pull him in and smother his senses. That might've been why he wasn’t able to react in time when Chris grabbed the front of his jacket and jammed a hand over his mouth. Resistance was futile, but it didn’t stop him from trying.

Chris was having none of it, though. When Josh tried to shove him away, he pushed him down and straddled him, clamping his frigid fingers even tighter over Josh’s mouth. Sam was shouting something that Josh couldn’t really hear or process. If it had been anyone else, Josh would have been a little pissed that they were trying to murder him. But as long as it was Chris, it felt more or less justified. Sam could have a go at him too if she wanted. Why not.

But as Chris held him down and Josh’s struggling grew half-hearted, the wild desperation gripping his heart subsided. His lungs stopped screaming and the dizziness faded to a dull ache. Slowly, Chris released him and leaned back. When Josh breathed in again, the air soothed his lungs instead of sapping him of oxygen. Chris hadn’t murdered him. Damnit.

As his senses returned, Josh became aware of the snow soaking into his jacket and stinging his skin. The wind was still howling, whistling mournfully in his ears and dragging sharp ice crystals across his face. Chris was staring down at him tensely, his weight crushing Josh’s intestines. How the fuck did he even have weight to crush Josh’s intestines with? This was such bullshit.

“You good?” Chris asked quietly. Sam was hovering over his shoulder, hands wringing together.

Josh let out a long, shaky sigh. “I’d be better if your ghost ass wasn’t crushing my mortal flesh puppet.”

Chris grinned. “Your mortal flesh puppet has way bigger problems, dude.”

“Bigger than your ass?” Josh pushed himself up on his elbows in an attempt to dislodge him, but Chris didn’t seem to take the hint. “Seriously, I’m fine. Shouldn’t you be weightless or something?”

Shrugging, Chris finally relented and got off of him. “I’ve got no idea, bro. It’s all a little unclear and poorly constructed. Kinda makes me think whoever is in charge didn’t fully flesh out this plot device,” he said, critically. “But from what I can gather, we can touch whatever we want, but you can’t touch us.”

“Fucking great,” Josh grumbled. He sat up and rolled his shoulders a bit. The reprieve granted to him by a friendly panic attack was slowly being replaced with a fresh bout of anxiety and disconcertion. He scrunched his face up and stared unhappily at his boots, unable to produce any meaningful comment on whatever the hell was going on. Even if he were feeling loquacious, his throat was too stopped up to speak. Why did everything have to be so much all the time?

“Josh?”

Dragging his eyes away from his boots, Josh met Sam’s concerned look. “Yeah, Sammy?” He asked quietly. His brain was a thousand miles away and somehow the two of them felt farther.

She paused, a comment on the tip of her tongue, but quashed it and let out a humorless laugh. “Well, I was gonna ask if you’re alright. But I guess that’s kind of a dumb question.”

“Let’s make a deal.” Josh dragged a grimy hand down his face tiredly. “You can ask me and I can ask you. No gimmicks.” He tried to make the smile he offered the two of them less than melancholy. It probably didn’t work.

Sam nodded. “Okay. Are you alright?”

“No.” Josh looked back down at his boots. “How ‘bout you guys? You guys alright?”

“No,” Chris answered.

Sam sighed. “I’ve definitely been better.”

The snow was seeping into Josh’s overalls and his ass was absolutely freezing, but getting up would have felt like an admission that there was anything worth getting up for. He was starving and freezing and even if his brain didn’t want to admit it, his bones seemed to ache with the knowledge that it was over. All of it was over. If he had spent the last few weeks on this mountain, covered in blood and dead men’s clothing, then it was likely he had nothing to return home to except the hangman’s noose, either by his own hand or the judge’s gavel. His bones ached and ached and ached. More than anything, his bones ached with the reality that there were no survivors on Blackwood Mountain. What his brain wouldn’t admit, his bones never forgot.

“They’re all dead aren’t they?” He asked quietly, voice nearly lost to the wind and snow.

“Yeah, we’re pretty sure,” Chris answered like a refrain. How many times had he answered this very question? Josh must’ve been like a broken record, requesting their eulogy again and again and again. How very cruel of him.

Josh hummed, nodding his head sadly. It was hard to focus on anything at the best of times, but the ravenous groaning and grumbling of his stomach was making this conversation particularly taxing. “Maybe you were right,” he mused. “It was better not knowing. But I deserve this, eh? The only punishment worse than death is survival, I guess.”

Chris shook his head. “It’s done, man. This isn’t about penance. You’re not still on this fucking nightmare of a mountain to make us feel better.”

Josh massaged his protesting stomach and squinted at Chris against the brightening sky. “No?”

“No.” Chris looked serious, so Josh tried to appear attentive. It was pretty damn hard when his stomach was chewing holes through his abdomen. “You stayed because you’re trying to bring us home.”

“Home,” Josh echoed. The word felt foreign in his mouth. Or maybe it was his mouth that felt foreign. His lips stung, raw and ragged, and his teeth ached and crowded each other, jabbing into gum and tongue every way they pointed. Why was his own mouth so uncomfortable? No, he was probably just paranoid.

Chris nodded. “We figure if Sam and I were stuck up here then maybe the others are too. There’s some bad mojo up here, man, I’m tellin’ you.”

“Probably ‘cause white people can’t keep their hands to themselves,” Josh muttered, picking at his nails. They were long and gross and a little too sharp for comfort. “Well where’s everyone else? How did I find you guys?”

“Still kind of vague,” Sam sighed. “But I think we’ve imprinted on an object we had with us when we died. If you have the object, you have us. Or at least that’s what it seems like.”

Josh frowned and leveled a skeptical look between the two of them. “Right,” he said slowly. “You’re all haunting knick knacks, got it. Anything more, uh, concrete to go on?”

“Gee, let me check the ghost manual,” Chris scoffed, flipping through an imaginary book. “I can’t believe it. It’s all written in Latin. I knew I shouldn’t have taken Spanish in high school. Unbelievable.”

“Alright, alright,” Josh muttered. “Haunted knick knacks. Got it.” They were probably pretty tired of going over this with him. “So, Mike’s lighter? Is it safe to say that Mike got his ass toasted in my family's lodge and he's haunting his douchebag lighter?”

“Just a hunch.”

Josh closed his eyes. The sun was hardly visible behind the clouds and thick snowfall, but it still burned. “So how did I find you guys?”

“You found Chris first,” Sam said, gesturing at him vaguely.

Chris nodded. “The best I can figure, you picked up my glasses somewhere in the mines when you were stumbling around down there. Took me a damn long time to talk you out of your, uh, situation.”

Situation? Oh, right.

“One of my fun breaks with reality?” Josh supplied grimly. “Mark me impressed. I hear it’s not easy talking me down.” He fished the cracked frames from the pocket of his borrowed jacket and turned them over in his hand. “You’re haunting a pair of glasses?”

“Okay, smartass. You don’t choose what you haunt.”

Josh snorted. “Sure. And what are you haunting?” He asked, turning his disbelieving look toward Sam. “Chewed gum? A shoestring?”

Sam pursed her lips. “Hilarious. A bracelet, actually. One that looks very stylish on you, by the way. You dug it up in the lodge a little over a week ago.”

Upon closer examination of his wrist, Josh found a delicate, woven bracelet. Despite the fire, it remained relatively undamaged. “I do make it work, don’t I?” He shifted it on his wrist a bit, admiring the view. Part of him wanted to ask if it was the one Hannah had made her in middle school, but he couldn’t force the words out. “I’m starving,” he said instead.

Chris and Sam stiffened noticeably and Chris barked out an awkward laugh. Oh, excellent. More secrets.

Josh was too tired for any of that. Whatever was odd or unsettling about him being hungry was going on the backburner. Hopefully there was room on the backburner, because Josh had put a whole bunch of his problems there over the last decade. His front burners were very much neglected. Why fix that now, though?

“So,” Josh deflected, “what now? We should probably go back for Mike’s lighter.”

“Those park rangers might drag you off the mountain,” Sam advised. “I’m not sure we should go back there yet.”

“Mines, then?”

Sam shook her head. “Bad idea. The wendigos have nowhere else to go during the day. I expect it’s easier to get around down there when they’re out hunting after dark.”

That was about the limit of Josh’s attention span. The grownups continued discussing their game plan while Josh pouted about his aching stomach and picked at the loose threading on the old miner’s jacket. Absently he wondered if ghosts could smell. They probably couldn't or they would never get that close to him. Josh could smell himself and it wasn’t pleasant. He smelled like an abandoned slaughterhouse and giving up.

Eventually he was dragged to his feet with some explanation about retracing Emily and Matt’s steps. Nobody had heard from them again after they left to find the radio tower. Josh’s eyes burned and his stomach groaned, but he figured as the last person with a pulse he should really keep his complaints to himself. Obediently he followed them off into the pine trees, pulling his clothes tighter against his shivering body.

Chris and Sam continued being clever and resourceful while Josh rapidly fell behind them. He chalked it up to being mortal. The trees were thick in that part of the mountain and the snow was thicker. Josh wasn’t even short, but he found himself slugging doggedly against high snow banks like trudging through quicksand.

Ahead of him, he heard Chris shriek. He looked up just in time to watch Chris pull Sam into a panicked headlock and nearly drag them both backwards into a snow drift. Josh attempted to jog to them and offer assistance, but he only achieved an awkward hopping march as his shoes caught on thick piles of snow.

“Jesus, what’s wrong?” He panted.

Sam shoved Chris off of her. “You scared the shit out of me, Chris!”

“Ugh.” Chris held a hand over his mouth and backed away from the gruesome scene Josh had stumbled upon.

He stared blankly at his feet where small flecks of bright red blood adorned the disturbed snow. As he cast his gaze outward, the dispersed droplets morphed into large splatters and finally pools of gore, vivid and shocking against the grey and white backdrop of the mountain. His breath came quicker as his eyes sorted through the unrecognizable form, gutted and thrown about as if in a frenzy. Even from his distance, he could smell the blood – taste it almost. It was pleasant. No, it was  _mesmerizing._

Josh shuffled closer, studying the scene that had Chris facing the other direction, hands on his knees, while Sam patted his back reassuringly. There was some relief in the discovery that it wasn’t human. The massacred mess looked like it might have been some kind of deer or elk before evisceration.

Slowly, Josh looked down at his own trembling hands.

Caught red-handed.

“Josh?” Sam asked nervously.

Shaking his head, Josh turned away from the gruesome scene. “That’s pretty gross,” he said weakly. “I, uh, didn’t do that, did I?”

Sam opened her mouth, probably to tell him some soothing lie, but shut it again after she wasn’t able to produce any words. Yeah, that’s what he thought.

Chris pushed himself back up from his hunched position and wiped his hand across his forehead. “Ugh,” he repeated. “Jesus, Josh. You killed Bambi.”

Josh recoiled slightly. “I d-didn’t mean to. I don’t even remember doing it!”

“Technically, I think you killed Bambi’s mom.” Sam was studying the flayed corpse, face morphed into morbid curiosity.

“You killed Bambi’s mom!” Chris amended, gesturing angrily at what little was left of the hapless Disney victim. “You killed Bambi’s mom, Josh!”

Remorseful, Josh laced his fingers together in front of his body and hung his head. “Sorry,” he supplied lamely. As if to add insult to injury, Josh’s traitorous stomach growled, low and ominous.

Oh fuck.

Oh shit. He had – oh man.

Bits and flashes of memory streaked across his inner eye. Fumbling hands and slippery flesh. Sinew snapping and tearing between his teeth and nails. Warm blood dripping down his chin before hitting the snow in soft, beautiful patterns. Heart warm and pulsating against his fingers. Against his tongue. Against his stomach. The wild look in the creature’s eye as it struggled to face him in its final moments.

Josh wretched, stomach acid and flesh creeping up his throat, but he held it down if for no other reason than he did not wish to taste or see his last meal again. This wasn’t happening. People don’t just kill Bambi’s mom with their bare hands and ingest her still-beating heart. Josh would have remembered _that_ traumatizing Disney moment.

What the fuck was going on.

Oh god, he was really _really_ hungry. Just a bite just one bite just one bite and he would be fine just one bite just-

“Josh, _dude_.”

Tearing his eyes away from the mangled animal, Josh shot Chris a wild look. “What the fuck is going on?” He whined. “I’ve gotta – I mean, I just _really_ -“

“Josh,” Sam said sternly, placing a hand flat against his chest. His breathing felt labored again. “Stay calm.” Would people quit telling him that? Physiological responses to stressful situations exist for a reason. “We’re going to keep walking,” she instructed. “I know what you’re thinking, but you’re wrong. You don’t have to. And you’re not going to.”

If only he had some of her confidence. No, he was pretty sure he was going to.

“B-but I did that, Sammy. I’m – oh god. Oh god, oh shit. _Shit_.” When Josh reached his shaking hands up to run them down his face, they snagged on sharp protrusions and caught on ragged flesh. How hadn’t he noticed that before? Flashes of his sister’s deformed features, roaring and spitting in his face like a spectral insect in the eerie glow of pale skin and stagnant water flashed before his eyes. Oh, _fuck_.

A stream crackled and splashed across jagged ice and rock some thirty feet away and Josh shuffled toward it in a daze. He was surprised that neither Chris nor Sam tried to stop him, but they were probably just grateful he had decided not to chow down on his leftovers.

Upon reaching the partially frozen stream, Josh dropped to his hands and knees and stared down at his own reflection, slightly distorted, but alarmingly defined in the growing daylight and clear water.

And what a sight he was.

Teeth. Lots of teeth. Too many teeth and not enough space for them. His cheek had been torn up one side to make room for the longer canines and jumbled extra fangs, like a kindergartener had haphazardly glued them there as part of a craft project. Dried blood and congealed gore had been partially, but not successfully, wiped from his gruesome visage, leaving tracks and smears of blood and ash along his jaw line and cheeks. And despite the alarming changes to his face, he couldn’t help but note that he really needed a shave.

Oh, and he had antlers. Like, honest to god, motherfucking deer antlers. His were dark and spindly, like a tangled, scorched tree branch.

Other than that, everything was normal.

“It’s not that bad.”

Josh turned to look Chris in the eye.

Chris shrugged. “I was always the cute one anyways. Don’t sweat it, dude.”

Groaning, Josh sank back on his knees, pushing away from his own grisly reflection. “I’m turning into one, aren’t I?” He couldn’t even bring himself to call it by name. “Oh, fuck me.”

“Whatever will cheer you up, dude.”

Josh dug the heels of his palms deep into his eye sockets. “Not helping.”

“Sorry.”

“Try again when I’m not spiraling.”

“Noted.”

Letting out a long, dramatic groan, Josh studied the prickling lights and swirling colors generated by pressing his palms into his eyes. His father had always joked that the Washington family curse was being tall and successful. Now he was beginning to think that the real Washington family curse was turning into a cannibalistic hairless monkey. Oddly specific.

“What do you need from us, Josh?” Sam asked.

A gun and a single bullet.

“Ugh,” he said instead. He could feel bile creeping up his throat and his stomach clenched at the sudden swoop of nausea. “I need to not have fucking antlers is what I need.”

“Wish granted?” Chris seemed baffled.

That was a good sign. “You mean I don’t have antlers and piranha teeth?”

Chris examined him carefully. “Uh, no antlers. Lots of teeth, though.”

Oh, great. Hallucination antlers. And real teeth. Josh stared at his reflection, shaking his head a bit to test the weight of his skull. Apparently the antlers were for his own benefit. How nice.

“Josh?”

He sighed, slightly irritated. “Just give me a second, alright? I think I ate too much Bambi.”

“Bambi’s mom,” Chris corrected. Josh shot him a glare and he mumbled a quick apology.

The truth of the matter was, though, that Josh was pretty sure the nausea was because he needed to eat _more_. They needed to get out of there before he indulged. “Okay. Alright, I’m good,” he lied, forcing his feet back under him. “Let’s go.”

“Just like that?” Sam grabbed Josh’s arm and steadied him. “No nagging existential questions? No concerns?”

“Does it matter?” Josh set off ahead of the two, ignoring his pained stomach. “Everyone’s dead, it’s my fault, and my Dr. Jekyll’s losing out to my Mr. Hyde big time. What I think doesn’t matter.”

Their shameful silence wasn’t very reassuring. But he took it as acquiescence and they all plodded on quietly. As the sun climbed higher in the murky sky, Josh’s eyes felt like they were trying to melt back into his brain. He supposed this was why wendigos lurked in caves. Was this his fate? Crawling around wet caves while his hair was replaced with more teeth and he ate his way through the entire cast of The Jungle Book? Divine justice, he supposed.

They passed the cottage where Jess was taken from, but didn’t stop. Before Mike went up in a blaze of glory he had mentioned that Jess died in the mines. The cottage was empty and cold, so they left it behind and trekked onwards for something more concrete. Unfortunately, they found it.

Chris let out a loud whistle. “Goddamn.”

Josh looked up from his boots and let out his own whistle. “Wow.”

“Huh.” Sam crossed her arms.

Side by side, the three of them admired the impressive wreckage leftover from the radio tower’s demise. Josh frowned. “Jesus, is there anything of mine that you guys didn’t completely destroy?”

“Your massive ego,” Chris answered absently, taking a few steps closer to the splintered lumber and scattered wire. Most of it appeared to have fallen down the opposing cliff face, a relatively shallow drop that hedged the northern side of the radio tower when it still stood. “Do you think Matt and Emily were on it when it collapsed?”

“I kind of hope they were,” Sam admitted. “Better falling to your death than getting eviscerated by wendigos.”

It occurred to Josh that he hadn’t actually asked how either of them had met their own gruesome ends. Did he want to know? Curiosity outweighed the horror. “Er, is that what happened to you?” He asked carefully, or rather, as careful as you can be when asking someone about their untimely demise.

Sam winced only slightly. “Er, yeah. I’d rather not talk about it.”

That was fair. “Sorry,” he murmured. Sorry for asking. Sorry for not being able to save them. Sorry for terrorizing them. Sorry for inviting them up to that mountain. Sorry for all the things they’ll never get to do. Sorry for ever being in their lives. The list goes on.

“I got my head ripped off,” Chris interjected, a little less delicately than the situation warranted. “At least, I think I did. It was so quick; I guess I’m not really sure. Aw man, I hope they didn’t eat me.”

“Nah, you’d give ‘em indigestion.”

Chris rounded on Josh, suddenly offended. “I taste awesome.”

“Sure.”

Seemingly satisfied, Chris nodded and began sliding down the shallow cliff face leading down into the wreckage of the radio tower. Josh watched him go, a permanent grimace fixed on his face and probably in his DNA at that point. This was all a little more fucked up than he was capable of dealing with.

“You’re handling this well,” Sam noted, eyes searching Josh’s face for some sign of imminent collapse. It can’t have been difficult to find.

“So are you,” Josh defended. “ _I’m_ not dead.”

“Do you think we’re hallucinations?” It felt like an accusation.

Josh didn’t really have an answer. Maybe? It would make sense if they were hallucinations. But they were friendly and comforting to have around, so he didn’t care to insult them. They were the last things he had left. And they weren’t even real. God, how pathetic.

Sam took his silence in stride. “Sometimes I catch myself wondering if we’re your hallucinations too. But I don’t think hallucinations are self aware.” She looked off into a distant line of ancient pine trees, eyes sadder than her words let on. “And no. I’m not handling it well, Josh,” she said simply before heading off down the slope toward Chris.

Yeah, well they were both good actors then.

The incline wasn’t too steep on the way down, but it didn’t stop Josh from face planting twice and seriously hurting his ankle. It got trickier near the bottom where the wreckage was thicker and the grade was harsher. Or maybe it was just more difficult because his eyes couldn’t help sweeping the wreckage for mangled, frozen bodies. Did he hope they were there? That would have been kind of a bleak hope to have. But if they didn’t die from the fall then he had no further clues to their whereabouts. And Sam was right: maybe falling was the better death option.

Josh saved himself the trouble of the last ten feet down by tripping on his boots and eating shit. “Fantastic,” he mumbled into the snow.

“You good?” Chris pulled him up by the back of his jacket. “Very graceful.”

“Thanks.” Josh wiped the snow from his face and shielded his eyes from the clouded sunlight. Wordlessly, they all fanned out and began kicking through debris.

No dead bodies. A lot of wood, shattered glass, and snapped wire. No dead bodies, though. Josh hauled himself over a large piece of lumber, held horizontally in the air by more debris. As he clambered over the other side, a squirrel stopped it’s rummaging to stare wide-eyed at the intruder. Josh stared back and the two of them quickly approached an impasse. He imagined the squirrel’s heart was beating as fast as his own. Why was his heart doing that?

Suddenly, his vision got much worse. The snow and debris in his peripheral faded to a dull, aching red – difficult to distinguish shapes in. In stark contrast, the squirrel became blurred, but immaculately bolded against its backdrop, almost like it were highlighted – no, glowing. Perfect tunnel vision.

Josh swallowed.

Then he lunged.

But Josh was the kind of guy who face planted on a fifty-degree incline, _not_ the kind of guy who can capture a frightened squirrel with his bare hands. The squirrel darted away, and Josh fell frantically on his hands and knees, scattering rubble in an attempt to dislodge its hiding place.

“Dude.”

Josh tore his eyes away from the plank he was shifting. His stomach raged at him for his failure, but his vision quickly returned. He pushed himself back up on his knees and turned to give Chris a tired look. “What?”

“ _Dude_ ,” he repeated, shaking his head sympathetically.

“Fuck you.”

“You’ve gotta get a handle on this.” Chris pulled Josh to his feet, refusing to drop Josh’s hand even when he had been righted. “How bad is it?”

“Night of the living dead, dude. My stomach’s eating itself.”

Chris smiled innocently and held his forearm out. “Want a bite?”

Josh grinned back. “I hate you.”

“Hey, losers, find anything?” Sam hauled herself over the same piece of lumber that Josh had climbed over, but with significantly more grace. “I’ve got nothing.”

“Josh found a squirrel,” Chris snickered. “Went all Freddy Krueger on it too.”

“Freddy Krueger didn’t _eat_ anyone,” Josh returned, disgusted by the inaccuracy of it all. They had watched that movie together. Was he the only one who paid attention during movies?

“You tried to eat it?” Sam asked, mildly horrified.

Oops.

“Er, no. Not really,” Josh lied. “But, uh, not important. Nothing to report over here. I guess there’s a chance they weren’t on this thing when it collapsed.”

Sam didn’t seem convinced. “Well, I guess that’s possible.”

Chris tapped his chin thoughtfully. “What if they were on it, but they survived the fall?”

Sam mirrored his thoughtful look and the two of them fell into plotting silence. Was that even possible? The radio tower was pretty damn tall. But maybe by some stroke of luck and resourcefulness they had hit the bottom alive. That possibility wasn’t exactly comforting. If they were injured, they would have been easy wendigo bait.

“Let’s say they survived,” Sam reasoned. “If they reached the bottom alive, then the snow would’ve been too slick to climb back up at this incline. Getting down here is way easier than getting back up. Their only other option would have been to find a way out through the mines,” she finished, gesturing at an ominous, rocky entrance at the far end of the wreckage.

“Oh, excellent,” Josh griped, pulling the wool blanket tied around his shoulder up to cover his ears. He half expected it to snag on his antlers, but he was able to bring it over his head like a hood without trouble. No antlers. What an odd thing to hallucinate.

Chris laughed and pulled Josh into an obnoxious side-hug. “C’mon dude, it’ll be great. Like a walk in the park. But like, if the park was a gateway to hell and everything in the park was trying to kill you.”

Sam nodded solemnly. “Let’s wait until dusk.”

And wait they did.

 

* * *

 

 

Josh dozed off at some point, skull knocking uncomfortably against the rocks with each shiver. He dreamed about a warm fire and a large feast. In the dream, his reflection was just as deformed and terrifying, but nobody was scared of him. His antlers were larger, heavier, and more foreboding. Nobody could see them. The dream was short and pleasant, but hurt to wake up from.

“And how do you imagine this will end?”

Josh kept his eyes closed and pretended to be asleep.

Chris let out a long, tired sigh. “Hasn’t it already ended for us?”

“No,” Sam returned stubbornly. “That’s the whole problem.”

“I don’t know, Sam. I just – I don’t know.”

“What happens to _him_? He goes home and everything’s fine?”

“Obviously not.”

“Then what the hell are we doing?”

“We’re going home, Sam. That’s what we’re doing. I don’t know what happens to us or Josh after we leave, but it’s gotta be better than staying here.”

There was a long pause and Josh considered ending his fake nap. He stopped himself when Sam continued talking, voice small.

“Is it?”

“Of course it is.”

“Chris, what if…what if – what if that’s it for us? What if this stupid mountain is the only thing keeping us here? Ugh.” She laughed, but it was watery and devoid of humor. “God, sorry. I know it’s lame, but I’m really scared.”

“I’m scared too, Sam. And I'm sure Josh is scared. But it feels right, doesn’t it? Like we have to do this? We all have an expiration date up here.”

Another pause. Josh felt gross listening in on this. None of it was meant for his ears and all of this was his fault.

“You’re right,” Sam finally conceded. “I’m being a baby. But look at our poor, cannibal child. What’s going to happen to him when we fuck off to the afterlife? I’m just worried about him. Aren’t you?”

“Worry about us, Sam. We’re dead.”

Okay, time to end it. Josh yawned and stretched loudly. “Who’s worried about me?”

“I am,” Chris answered quickly. “Because you’re so ugly.”

“Thanks.”

Sam and Chris wanted to stand around and try to plan their expedition into hell, but Josh figured any plans they had would disintegrate at the first sign of danger. And technically he was in charge as keeper of the haunted knick-knacks, so they really didn’t have a choice but to follow him when he set off down the dark tunnel. Besides, the sun had abandoned them a while ago. Now that he didn’t have to squint and battle broiling headaches, Josh was ready for whatever the hell was waiting for them in the mines.

He was feeling almost optimistic, too, before a piercing shriek shattered the thick underground air. Man, they hadn’t even gone ten minutes without that bullshit.

“Incredible,” Josh muttered. Half of him wanted to turn tail and sprint back the way they had come. The other half of him probably just couldn’t generate two fucks to give, because he just kept on trudging. But he did trudge just a little quieter.

“So what’s your plan? Wander around until you get eaten?”

Sam had no faith in him whatsoever. That was probably how she had stayed alive so long. Didn't do her much good in the end, though. “Oh, I don’t know. I might be the one doing the eating,” Josh said good-naturedly. “We’ll just have to see how hungry I get.”

“That bad, huh?”

“And then some.” It probably wasn’t the best time to be talking, but if he didn’t make it out of the mines, he needed her to know something. “Sammy, whatever happens down here-“ he cut himself off. What exactly did he want her to know?

Sam hummed irritably. “Can we not do this?”

“Oh no, we’re doing this. I guess at the end of all this, I just want you to let me go, alright? Leave me behind.”

“How can I? You’ve got my favorite bracelet,” she returned, offering him a cheeky smile.

Josh was having none of it. “I’m serious. I made my choices, Sammy. I’ll try to get you guys off this mountain so you can go have barbeques with jesus or whatever. That’s how I apologize. And that’s it, Sam. I dug my grave and now I’m gonna lay in it. Alone.”

Finally, Josh looked away. He didn’t know how to deal with people when they cry – never had – and he felt like her eyes were glistening a little too earnestly. It took her a few moments, but Sam managed to find her voice. “We tried, you know? We tried to keep you with us these last few years. We tried to put you back together.”

Josh looked back at her with a kind smile. She wasn’t crying. He never gave her enough credit. “I know. And look what it cost you. Nobody’s ever gonna say you guys didn’t try. But worry about yourselves now. I’ve been trying to crash and burn for years. And I know you would’ve taken the wheel from me forever, but ghosts can’t drive. So do whatever you have to do to be okay when I crash.”

Sam sighed and punched his arm lightly. “You idiot. You're just - ugh.”

Yeah, that pretty much summed it up.

When they finally caught up to Chris, he berated them for having feeling jams during their dangerous expedition. Deep down, though, everyone knows that feeling jams just kind of happen when they happen. Do you really think Leo Dicaprio and Kate Winslet felt that clinging to debris in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean while the Titanic sunk below them was a stellar fucking time for emotional banter? It just happens when it happens.

But Chris was right, as usual. Besides, Josh was way uglier than Leo and Sam would never kiss him and leave him to die in the Atlantic. As he rounded a sharp turn in the poorly lit caves, he heard the scrambling hands and feet a little too late. Hell, he might have run headlong into the creeping wendigo if it hadn’t screamed at the sight of him. That was probably the most human thing it could have done considering what he looked like.

Josh froze, not as part of some evasive strategy, but because he wasn’t nearly as hardened to the monsters on Blackwood Mountain as he thought he was. Freezing didn’t do him any favors, though. The wendigo had seen him, could hear his panting, and could probably smell him. He might have stood there and let it rip the flesh from his quaking bones if Chris hadn’t grabbed his arm and jerked him backwards the way they had come. Because of this, when the wendigos lunged at him, Josh was already spinning to sprint back the way he had come.

Too little too late.

As he tore off down the tunnel, the wendigo latched onto his jacket, hurling the both of them into one of the jagged walls of the tunnel. Adrenalin kicked in at last and Josh threw his elbow back. It connected with something fleshy, earning an angry shriek and claws piercing his shoulder. The pain hardly registered. Its other clawed hand reached around his shoulder and tore its nails across his face. On instinct, Josh whirled around and swung his fist into the creature’s mouth.

Two seconds. He had earned two seconds to escape.

With a sickening squelch and tearing noise, Josh tore himself out of his jacket and sprinted off into the depths of the mines while the wendigo was left to detangle itself from the ratty coat.

Bucket list entry: punch wendigo in the face.

Check.

Josh wasn’t athletic in the slightest, but there are some things that turn anyone into a marathon champion. Almost getting eaten by hell spawn is one of them. His lungs were heaving and his shoulder hurt like a motherfucker, but he plowed on, taking random turns and doubling back occasionally until he was sure the wendigo had lost his trail. Finally, he slowed to a stop and doubled over.

“Fuck,” he gasped. “I think I might’ve pissed myself back there.” When he reached up to touch his burning face, his hand came back bloody. “Fine Chris,” he panted. “I’m willing to admit now that I might be ugly. That asshole ruined the last thing I had going for me.”

Silence.

Josh straightened up, cradling his shredded shoulder, to find he was very much alone. “Uh, guys?” He called timidly into the darkness. “What’s the point of my self-deprecation if nobody’s around to enjoy it?” To dispel the creeping sense of doom, Josh let out an awkward laugh while he examined his surroundings. Where the hell were those assholes? They’d left him before when he was in a pinch, but not for too long.

He quieted his breathing and listened closely to the minute sounds of the mines. All he could really make out was the steady dripping of stalactites and his own heartbeat. Why had they left him? Shit, maybe they _had_ been hallucinations. What was more likely: his whacked out brain inventing company or literal paranormal activity. It only took another near-death experience to bring him to whatever was left of his senses.

Anxiously, Josh scrubbed at his scalp with his sharp nails and paced back and forth in the darkness. What else had he imagined? When his boot sank into a shallow puddle, Josh dropped to his knees and searched his reflection. His own gaunt, deformed features stared wide-eyed back at him, sharp teeth coated in the blood oozing down his mauled face. Twisted antlers, larger and more menacing than before curled out of either side of his skull. But when he reached up to touch them, his hands found nothing. No antlers. Why the _fuck_ was he the only one who could see the _goddamn_ antlers.

Josh huffed angrily and swiped at the puddle to erase his own gruesome image. As he did, though, a colored rope caught his eyes near the edge of the water. When he fished it out of the puddle and held it up, it tickled the back of his brain like a recent memory. He could’ve sworn he had seen it before. It was a small bracelet.

Sam’s small bracelet.

Confused, Josh glanced down at his own wrist to find he wasn’t wearing the band anymore. Oh, shit, it must have fallen off when he was running.

“You’d think you might be a little more careful with your friends’ immortal souls.”

Josh startled and fell back on his ass. Sam was crouched next to him with a disappointed look. “Shit, Sammy. Don’t scare me like that.”

“Scare _you_?” Sam scoffed. “You just lost my last tether to humanity in a puddle while- Jesus, your face looks even worse.”

“You should see the other guy,” Josh said half-heartedly. But his face really did hurt. His shoulder was also smarting pretty badly.

“Hey, where’s Chris?”

Josh frowned. “What, he’s not with you?”

“No, smartass. You’re the one with his glasses.”

Correction: his jacket was the one with Chris’s glasses. And the wendigo was the one with his-

“Oh, fuck.”

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the biggest mystery in this story is if i'm ever gonna finish it. the rest is probably pretty predictable.
> 
> really, this was just an excuse for me to practice my much-neglected action sequence skills. they ain't getting any better are they. i knew it.
> 
> well, anyways. cheers to the handful of you who aren't revolted by my writing. you make me feel young again. i been kicking it to [this song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=r8BsuT0PWdI) lately if ur interested.
> 
> party with me on [tumblr](http://coldmackerel.tumblr.com) if ur so inclined. cheers, friends.


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